


When I Need Your Love, When I Need Your Help

by intocooperstown



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hamlet is there, Hurt/Comfort, Is this incredibly self-indulgent?, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Normalize parents that are well-intentioned but still mess you up, See notes for specific warnings, Sharing a Bed, Technically you can read this as platonic, Yes.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intocooperstown/pseuds/intocooperstown
Summary: Five times Patrick comforts Pete, and one time Pete returns the favor.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	When I Need Your Love, When I Need Your Help

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is basically me satisfying my own craving for hurt/comfort fics with a lot of cuddling. This is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes and inconsistencies are mine. 
> 
> For warnings: in the second part, there are references to unhealthy eating habits, but nothing explicit. In the sixth part Patrick suffers a panic attack, but it doesn’t last too long, and he gets talked down. 
> 
> Title is from One Republic’s “Rescue Me.” Enjoy!

1\. During band practice. (2001)

Between songs, Pete takes off his bass and leaves it leaning against the arm of Joe’s couch. He mutters an excuse about being thirsty and runs upstairs like he can’t leave the basement fast enough. The rest of the band is left baffled, but not surprised; they had all noticed the tension in Pete’s shoulders, and his silence was too loud not to pay attention to. 

Patrick takes off his guitar and lays it down next to his feet. “I’ll go check on him.” Andy and Joe give him a nod, and he follows Pete upstairs. 

The kitchen is way too bright after being in the dim basement for so long. He finds Pete hunched over the sink and breathing loudly. Patrick approaches him carefully, not wanting to startle him, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Pete’s face is damp, like he went outside during a light rain shower. He’s not frowning, but he’s not smiling, either, and his eyes don’t look right. “You okay?” Patrick asks. 

Too quickly, Pete says, “I’m fine.” His voice sounds off, too; even when he’s annoying the shit out of him, Patrick has always thought of Pete’s voice as warm and lively. Now, his voice doesn’t sound like either of those things— he sounds strained. 

“Are you sure?” Patrick prompts. Pete doesn’t acknowledge him. “Dude, you’ve been acting weird all practice. I know something’s up.” 

Pete shrugs.

“Come on, Pete,” Patrick says, softening his tone and squeezing Pete’s shoulder. “Talk to me.” 

Pete takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes trained on the granite counter. “I feel overwhelmed.” 

“By what?” 

“Just. Everything. It’s all too much.” He takes another deep breath. He shakes his head and scrubs his hands over his face. “I feel too fragile today.” 

That doesn’t sound good. “Do you want to put practice on hold? We can hang out today and try again tomorrow. I’m sure Joe and Andy won’t mind.” 

Finally, Pete turns to face him. “I think I want to go home,” he whispers. 

Patrick’s stomach twists. “Are you sure?” Pete nods. “Do you want any company, or…?” 

Here, Pete hesitates. He stares at Patrick intensely, then looks down at the floor. Patrick would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little freaked out right now. He’s never seen Pete act quite like this. 

“No.” Pete shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I think I just want to sleep it off.” 

That, Patrick can understand. “Okay. I’ll let Joe and Andy know.” 

Pete doesn’t move. “You aren’t mad at me?” he asks quietly. 

Patrick shakes his head. “No, of course not, man.” 

In the blink of an eye, Pete pulls him into a tight hug. Patrick arms are trapped under Pete’s, so he can’t hug back very well, but he does his best. He can feel Pete tremble against him. “Thank you,” Pete says into the skin below Patrick’s ear. 

Patrick swallows hard. “No problem,” he says, as calmly as he can. When Pete pulls away, there are tears in his eyes, but he gives Patrick a shaky smile and turns before Patrick can say anything. 

He waits until Pete’s car disappears around the end of the block before going back to the basement. 

“Well?” Joe asks. He and Andy look worried, too. 

“Pete’s going home for the day.” Patrick shrugs. “He wasn’t feeling well.” 

Joe and Andy don’t pry. After a brief discussion, they declare band practice over for the day. While packing up, they realize Pete left his bass leaning against Joe’s couch. Joe suggests that they leave it there; they’re going to have practice again soon, anyway. Patrick however, insists on taking it back to Pete himself. After all, it gives him an excuse to check on Pete.

Pete’s mom is the one who answers the door. She greets Patrick with a warm smile and a hug, then invites Patrick in for a lemonade. Patrick leaves Pete’s bass at the foot of the stairs when he comes inside. Apparently, Pete stayed downstairs long enough to tell his mom what happened, then went upstairs to take a nap. When Pete’s mom went upstairs to check on him, he was out cold. 

Patrick makes polite conversation while drinking his lemonade, but once he rinses his glass he starts to leave. Mrs. Wentz thanks him for stopping by, and welcomes him back anytime. Then, just before Patrick can leave, she pulls him into a tight hug. This time, however, Patrick can hug back. 

“Thank you for looking out for him,” Mrs. Wentz whispers. 

Patrick smiles softly and says, “Anytime,” and it’s the truth.

2\. At Thanksgiving. (2005)

Patrick’s phone starts ringing long after he finishes his second slice of pumpkin pie. He doesn’t have to look at the caller ID to know that it’s Pete. He slips away to his childhood bedroom easily, only having to catch his mom’s eye and mouth “It’s Pete” before being excused, and shuts the door behind him. He sits down on the edge of his bed, still adorned in his blue Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets, and answers the call. 

“Hey,” Patrick says. “What’s up?” 

_“Um, we just got done eating.”_ Pete’s voice is too soft, and Patrick knows he has something serious on his mind. Instead of coming out with it, Pete asks, _“How are things going over there?”_

“Not bad,” Patrick says. “My mom tried a new stuffing recipe that was really good, and Kevin and I almost fist-fought our racist uncle.” 

Pete laughs, and Patrick relaxes a little at the sound. _“Sibling bonding at its finest,”_ Pete says. 

They lapse into silence. It isn’t tense because of awkwardness, but because Patrick _knows_ that something isn’t right. Something happened. It could be a wound the size of a paper cut on Pete’s pinky, trivial enough in Pete’s mind that he could feel silly mentioning it to anyone but Patrick, or it could be something much, much deeper, foul enough that Pete is leaning toward not talking about it at all— burying it and hoping it goes away. Patrick moves further onto his bed, sitting with his back against the wall and legs crossed under him, and waits for Pete’s words. 

_“My mom’s worried about me,”_ Pete whispers. 

“We all are,” Patrick says softly. “It’s because we care about you.” 

_“Yeah, but.”_ Pete huffs on the other end. _“You don’t bring it up all the time. You don’t make jokes about it that aren’t really jokes.”_

Patrick hesitates. “What do you mean?” 

A beat of silence. _“You don’t passive aggressively tell me to eat more, when I’m already fucking trying, or tell me to just stop thinking if I’m panicking, like I have the option to stop. I feel like she’s trying to bully me into getting better.”_

“She means well,” Patrick says weakly. “She just wants you to be healthy. Have you tried talking to her?” 

_“Yeah. I just don’t know how to make it sink in that she’s not being helpful. Like, I’m trying, you know?”_ He can hear Pete moving around on the other end of the line, and Patrick can imagine him laying in his own room at home, curled up under the covers. _“I need a hug, and maybe a good cry, but I feel like I can’t go to her right now without her freaking out on me. And like, I get why, but…”_ He trails off.

“I can come over tomorrow,” Patrick offers. “We can have a movie marathon. How’s that sound?” 

_“Really good,”_ Pete says. He pauses, and Patrick knows what he’s going to say before he says it. _“I wish I wasn’t like this.”_

“You can’t help it,” Patrick says immediately. “It’s out of your control, Pete. You deal with it the best that you can.” 

_“Shouldn’t I be doing more?”_ Pete asks quietly. 

“You do what you can,” Patrick reiterates. “If that means you only eat super salty chips and beef jerky for lunch because that’s all you can stomach right now, that’s still doing something. You can work your way up to doing more, when you’re ready.” 

_“But I feel like I can do more, and I’m just not.”_

“Pete,” Patrick starts gently. “If you don’t have the energy to do something right now, that’s okay. Don’t force yourself to be normal.” 

_“But—”_

“Pete. I know you’re doing the best that you can, okay? And that’s enough for now. We can worry about the rest later.” 

Pete lets out a sigh. _“Okay. Thanks, Patrick.”_

“Anytime.” Patrick waits for a few more minutes, and when he’s sure Pete has nothing else to say, he says, “Call me tonight if you need me, okay? I’ll check in before I go to bed.”

_“Okay. I will.”_

“Take care of yourself, Pete. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

_“I’m looking forward to it,”_ Pete says, and he sounds a lot calmer than when Patrick first picked up the phone.

3\. In the middle of the night. (2007)

Patrick wakes up to a dry throat, so he’s going to get a glass of water when he finds Pete in the bus lounge. He’s curled up in the corner of the couch, knees to his chest and hood pulled over his head. His gaze is fixated on the TV. The only light in the lounge is coming from the screen, and the only thing Patrick can clearly make out is Pete’s face; everything else is in shadows. 

“Pete?” Patrick calls softly, trying not to startle him. “Are you okay?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Pete doesn’t look away from the screen. 

Patrick passes in front of him to get to the kitchenette, and Pete doesn’t even blink. He pours himself a glass of water, then glances at the clock, then back at Pete. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, then sits down next to Pete on the couch. He sets his glass down on the table after taking a sip, then settles into his spot for the time being. 

Patrick watches the TV for a minute, then asks, “Pete, is this _Hamlet?_ ”

“Yep.” 

Patrick looks at him incredulously. “It’s two in the morning.” 

“That it is.” 

Patrick stares at him, only looking away when it becomes clear that Pete isn’t going to elaborate. He pulls a blanket over his lap and tries to pay attention; if Pete’s watching a Shakespearean play in the middle of the night, there’s a reason why. 

Pete shifts in the corner of Patrick’s vision. Pete lays down on the couch with his head in Patrick’s lap, still watching the TV. Patrick blinks down at him. Pete lifts his head, takes off his hood, then lays back down. Patrick takes that as a hint and slowly cards his fingers through Pete’s hair. Pete hums happily; Patrick doesn’t stop. 

Patrick starts to zone out. It’s hard not to, because the TV isn’t playing too loud, the room is fairly dark, Pete’s breathing is soft and calm, and the repetitive motion of running his fingers through Pete’s hair is too soothing. He starts feeling sleepy again, and he debates whether to risk falling asleep on the couch or convince Pete to turn off the TV and move to the bunks. 

“That’s like me,” Pete says quietly. His voice shakes Patrick out of his trance. 

“Sorry, what?” Patrick asks. 

Pete sits up and grabs the remote off the table. He rewinds the TV, letting it play again after a few seconds. 

_“To me it is a prison.”_

_“Why then, your ambition makes it one. ’Tis too narrow for your mind.”_

_“Oh god, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.”_

“That’s me,” Pete repeats. 

“I can sing for you,” Patrick offers, not knowing what else to say. “That usually helps, right?” 

Pete nods. He lays back down, head still in Patrick’s lap, and says, “After this act.” Patrick goes back to stroking Pete’s hair. 

True to Pete’s word, he turns off the TV between scenes and moves toward the bunks. Patrick looks in his bunk and finds that Pete’s already there, curled up under the covers. Patrick slides in besides him and starts singing without a word. Pete’s eyes fall shut, and his breathing evens out again, and the last thing Patrick thinks before falling asleep is _Goodnight, sweet prince._

4\. During the hiatus. (2011)

Pete’s house is spotless when Patrick comes inside. This shouldn’t be surprising, because Pete’s always been a cleaner person than Patrick, but Patrick expected some sort of mess in the living room or kitchen. After all, Patrick wouldn’t think any less of Pete for having dirty dishes piled up in the sink during his divorce. When Patrick compliments Pete for how tidy the rooms are, Pete just smiles sadly and says, “I’ve been trying to stay busy.” 

Patrick assesses the situation while he unpacks their Chipotle order. Pete’s been doing pretty well for himself, drinking water and going outside and doing other standard self-care things, and he enjoys all the time he has with his son. His biggest struggle has been sleeping, but that’s nothing new. Patrick listens to Pete talk about all the things he’d doing to keep himself steady, and when Pete’s done, Patrick takes his hand from across the kitchen counter. 

“That’s really good, Pete. I’m proud of you,” Patrick says softly. 

Pete smiles and squeezes his hand. “Thanks.” Patrick withdraws his hand and grabs plates for both of them. “I’m proud of you too, you know.” 

Patrick looks up at Pete. “Hmm?” 

“Yeah. Your EP was great, man.” Pete grins. “I can’t wait for the full thing.” 

“Oh.” Patrick feels his face heat up. “Thank you.” Pete nods, and Patrick hands him his plate. 

They re-watch _Game of Thrones_ while they eat, but switch to _Star Wars_ after they clear away their dishes. Pete pulls a carton of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream out of his freezer; he and Patrick pass it back and forth for the first half of the movie and share a blanket when they start getting chilly. Once they’re done with dessert, Pete shifts closer to Patrick’s side and lays his head on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick wraps an arm around him without a second thought, and Pete lets out a content sigh when Patrick rubs his shoulder. 

Two movies later, Patrick can feel his eyelids getting heavier. From the way Pete’s relaxed and boneless against Patrick’s side, he can’t be too far away from sleep either. Patrick nudges him, oh so gently, and whispers, “Ready to go to bed?” Pete nods. 

Pete doesn’t lie down right away. He remains sitting up on his side of the bed, legs under the blankets, staring at the corner of the room. Patrick lays down on his side and pulls the covers up to his chest, watching Pete carefully and waiting for him to move or speak. 

It takes Pete a few minutes, but he looks at Patrick and says, very quietly, “Do you ever want to be small?” 

Patrick blinks. “I mean, five-four is already pretty short.”

Pete laughs a little, looking at his lap. “Good point.” He takes another long pause. “Sometimes when I’m, like, stressed out and anxious, everything feels too big and scary, you know?” 

Patrick nods.

“I want to be small. Like a hedgehog, or one of those tiny lizards you see at beaches. Like, the ones that are the size of your pinkie. Those little fuckers are fast as hell, and they probably have the best hiding places.” 

“Probably the warmest hiding spots, too,” Patrick adds.

Pete hums. “Yeah. They can hide in plain sight, in those patches of grass people walk by but never pay attention to cause they’re too focused on the water.” Pete closes his eyes. “Bet they always feel warm and safe.” 

Patrick nudges Pete’s leg. When Pete looks at him, Patrick opens his arms. Pete slides further under the covers, until the only part of him left visible is the top of his head, then slots himself between Patrick’s arms. He feels shaky and tense, breathing like he’s trying not to cry. Patrick tucks Pete’s head under his chin and wraps his arms around Pete as tight as he can. Patrick tilts his head so he can whisper into Pete’s ear and says, “You’re going to be okay.” 

And Pete starts crying, and Patrick sings for him and rocks him back and forth, because Patrick knows he’s trying hard to hold it together and keep going but he’s struggling and he’s still the same twenty six year old that needs someone to hold onto every once in a while, and that’s okay. Patrick lets Pete hold onto him, even when the tears have stopped and Pete’s slipping into the land of sleep.

5\. Pre-release. (2013)

Patrick shouldn’t have been surprised when his phone rang at two in the morning. On the one hand, he wasn’t sleeping anyway, because _holy shit Fall Out Boy is about to come back from the dead,_ but he typically prefers to have his moments of panic in private. He’s been sitting on his bed and reading for hours, trying to keep his mind from racing too much. He glances at his screen and, upon seeing that it’s Pete calling, picks it up. 

_“I’m freaking out Patrick,”_ Pete says before Patrick can even say hello. _“I don’t know if we should do this.”_

Patrick frowns. “Do what? Release ‘My Songs?’” 

_“Yes.”_

“Why not?” Patrick asks calmly. “Walk me through it.” 

_“Patrick, this means so much to so many people. We can’t fuck this up.”_

“Who says we’re going to fuck it up?” 

_“Just. What if we put this out there and no one likes it? What then?”_

Patrick had been a little worried about that too, anxious after the mixed reception of _Folie_ and his own album, but he shrugs. “We try again with ‘Phoenix.’ This isn’t make or break, this is just trying to gain some momentum.” He wishes he could see Pete, read his facial expressions during the silence. “And even if people don’t like it at first, there’s time to figure out a different direction, you know?” 

Pete sighs. _“But Patrick, what if we can’t find a different direction? What if it’s too late?”_

Patrick tries to weigh Pete’s words. “What do you mean?” 

For a minute, all Patrick can hear is Pete breathing on the other end. He listens carefully, looking for signs of an anxiety attack, but he hears none. _“I don’t want this to fall apart right after we put ourselves back together, you know? I just got you guys back, and I don’t want to lose you again.”_

“Oh, Pete.” Patrick runs a hand through his hair. “You’re not going to lose us again, okay? I promise. If this doesn’t work out, we’re going to work _together_ to figure out what to do next. One failure isn’t going to destroy us.” 

_“I know that, rationally,”_ Pete says with a small laugh. _“It’s just hard to remember stuff like that when I’m panicky.”_

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Patrick says softly. 

Another beat of silence passes, but it’s less tense, even over the phone. 

_“Hey, turn on the cooking channel.”_

“What? Why?” Patrick is already reaching for the remote. 

_“I’m watching reruns of some bake off, and I don’t think this guy has ever seen a lamb in his life, because this cake is fucked up. It’s like that guy that painted an awesome bouquet of flowers and then forgot what cats look like.”_ This time when Pete laughs, it doesn’t sound so vulnerable. 

Patrick turns on his TV and finds the channel Pete was talking about as fast as he can. He catches a brief shot of the cake in question, and he immediately starts laughing, too. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding.” 

Neither of them end up getting much sleep, but the panic melts into laughter, and they can always catch up on sleep later. Patrick knows Pete’s smiling on the other end of the phone, and that’s better than any dream he could be missing out on.

6\. After pushing it back. (2017)

Patrick knows they did the right thing. They weren’t ready to release _MANIA,_ they weren’t confident in it, and no one felt comfortable releasing an album they weren’t confident in— so they moved the release date. It makes sense, and they all heaved a sigh of relief when they did it, and the people who are most excited for the album will be willing to wait, even if they are disappointed. 

The panic doesn’t hit until long after the PR team post Patrick’s letter. 

Patrick’s still in the studio. He and Pete are the only ones there right now, tossing around ideas now that they’ve got more time to explore them; Andy and Joe went home a few hours ago, figuring someone would call them if they’re needed. Pete’s in the other room, on the phone with their manager, and Patrick is fiddling with different chords and bass lines. “The Last of the Real Ones” is finally starting to come together, and it’s a relief, but Patrick can’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. 

He didn’t buckle under the stress, did he? That can’t be it. He can handle stress, that’s not why the album got pushed back. They didn’t push the album back because he couldn’t get his head in the game, right? It was a group decision. No one was ready. It’s not his fault. 

Right? 

_It’s okay,_ Patrick tells himself. _It’s fine. You’re fine._

Patrick stops what he was doing on the computer and puts his head in his hands. He shuts his eyes. His mind is already spiraling. His chest feels tight. He feels like he can’t breathe. His pulse is racing like he’s running a marathon but he’s frozen in place, helpless. 

Patrick hears footsteps. “Patrick?” Pete asks from behind him. “Are you okay?” 

Patrick tries to speak, but it comes out as a squeak. Pete is crouched next to him in an instant. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” He speaks in a soft voice, low and calm and gentle. “Breathe, Patrick.” Patrick takes a shuddering breath. “There you go,” Pete murmurs. He puts a hand on Patrick’s back, lightly rubs up and down. He offers Patrick his other hand, and Patrick takes it without a second thought. Pete strokes the back of Patrick’s hand with his thumb. 

Pete continues whispering reassurance, breathing with Patrick when he needs to, and grounding Patrick with gentle touches. As quickly as it came, the panic drains from Patrick; he’s relieved, but without the adrenaline holding him up, he feels like he could collapse at any second. He risks a glance at Pete, and he’s met with a soft smile. Pete squeezes his hand and quietly asks, “Are you alright?” Patrick wants to nod, but he doesn't have the energy to lie, so he settles for a shrug. Pete’s face doesn’t change as he says, “Do you want a hug?” Again, Patrick doesn’t have the energy to lie. Pete carefully pulls Patrick in, placing his hands firmly on Patrick’s back and holding him tight. Patrick rests his chin on Pete’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Embarrassment crashes over Patrick. He swallows thickly and tries not to cry. He knows he has no reason to be embarrassed, this is Pete, but he’s not easily shaken, and he hates showing people when he is. 

“It’s okay,” Pete repeats, like he’s reading Patrick’s mind. He gives Patrick a brief squeeze and releases him. Patrick bites back a sob at the loss of contact. Fuck, he’s got to get a grip. “Do you want to go back to your hotel room?” Pete asks. 

Patrick nods, forcing out a soft “Yeah.” 

Pete takes his hand again. “Okay. We can do that.” Patrick is very, very grateful for the “we.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sore spot at the back of Patrick’s throat when he wakes up. He doesn’t open his eyes right away, but he knows without seeing that Pete’s holding onto him. They’re laying in bed, covers pulled up to Patrick’s chin. Patrick doesn’t know if the room itself is dark or not, and frankly, he doesn’t care. His face is tucked into Pete’s neck, Pete has a hand on his lower back, keeping him close, and he’s petting Patrick’s hair in slow, smooth strokes. Patrick feels very small, tucked against Pete with his arms against his chest, and he finds that he doesn’t mind it. 

Patrick thinks that there couldn’t possibly be a warmer, safer place than where he is right now. 

Patrick stirs and tries to say something, but all that comes out is “Mmrf.” 

Pete stills. “Patrick? Are you awake?” he whispers. Patrick nods, and Pete goes back to stroking his head. “You kept tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep, and I was awake anyway, so I figured you could use some comfort.” 

Patrick shifts and makes another incoherent noise, thinking grateful thoughts. 

Pete stills again. “That might’ve been presumptuous of me. I’ll give you some space.” He starts to pull away, and Patrick panics a bit. 

“No, wait,” Patrick croaks. He grabs onto Pete’s shirt and holds on tight. 

“You want me to stay?” Pete asks, surprised. Patrick’s not usually a clingy person, after all, but… he needs this. Patrick just nods, curling further into Pete. “Okay,” Pete says softly. He pulls Patrick closer, cradling him, and Patrick relaxes. He doesn’t know how long he was asleep, but he already feels tired again. He doesn’t fight it, though; he melts against Pete and drifts off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patrick showers, and he feels ten times better after washing off the layer of sweat that had been clinging to his skin since he was in the studio. When he comes out of the bathroom, Pete is scanning the room service menu. “How does soup sound?”

Patrick shrugs. “Not bad.” 

Patrick is surprisingly okay with Pete looking after him. It’s not that he never liked it before, but he found that he got claustrophobic after being under Pete’s watchful eyes for too long. Now, Pete is much more wary of Patrick’s comfort, and he hasn’t pushed Patrick to talk. The patience and space that Pete’s giving him is more reassuring than any anxious hovering Pete’s done in the past. It must be something about having kids. 

Pete manages to find _The NeverEnding Story_ on pay-per-view, and they talk over the movie (“Was that not traumatizing as a kid though? Watching Artax fucking _drown_ while Atreyu cries? Who gave that scene the go-ahead?” “It was the eighties, Pete, what do you expect?”) while waiting for their food to arrive. When there’s a knock on the door, Pete volunteers to get it; the waiter is quick dropping off their order, which Patrick is grateful for since he’s in his pajamas and he knows his hair is still a wreck. Patrick just smiles politely and lets Pete handle everything, and before he knows it the waiter is leaving again. Pete hands Patrick his soup and a spoon and sets Patrick’s drink on the nightstand closest to him, and he double-checks that Patrick’s settled before grabbing his own food. 

They quiet down while they’re eating, but they still make comments every once in a while to make each other laugh. Pete finishes his food before Patrick, and he lays back on the bed, propped up by the pillows and hands folded on his stomach. Patrick puts his bowl on the table beside him when he’s done, takes a sip of his drink, and when he looks back at Pete, his arm is extended, offering Patrick the space at his side. 

Once again, warmth and safety wash over Patrick as he cuddles up to Pete. It’s all too easy to relax at the weight of Pete’s arm around his shoulders and the rise and fall of Pete’s chest under Patrick’s cheek. 

The next thing Patrick knows, the movie is over. 

Pete nudges him. “Are you still awake?” 

Patrick sits up and rubs his eyes. “Barely.” Pete nods, and Patrick realizes his face is painted in concern. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?” Patrick asks, panic rising in him again. 

“No, everything’s okay, I guess. I mean—” Pete sighs. “I’m just worried about you,” Pete says. “I can tell you’re stressed and freaking out, man. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk, but I’m a little at a loss, I guess.” 

“Oh.” Patrick looks down at the bed sheets. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m not mad,” Pete says gently, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “You kind of scared me yesterday, though, and you seem better, but I’m still a little on edge.” The concern on Pete’s face morphs into guilt. “This came out of nowhere, and we’re best friends, and I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t.” 

Patrick shakes his head. “No, don’t think like that. This wasn’t something that could’ve been prevented, I don’t think. I just got overwhelmed all of a sudden.” 

“But why? We pushed back the album release, we’ve got more time.” 

Patrick pauses. “Well…” He clears his throat. “I was just thinking, and I felt bad that we had to post-pone the album.” 

Pete frowns. “I mean, no one’s _happy_ that we had to, but it’s better this way.” He stares at Patrick for a moment. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” Pete asks quietly. 

Patrick nods, feeling a little ashamed. “It’s stupid.” 

Pete says, “Tell me anyway.” 

“I feel like it’s my fault the album got pushed back.” 

“What?” 

Patrick keeps staring at the sheets. “I couldn’t handle the stress, and I couldn’t make music because of it. And I should be able to, we’ve been doing this for years, but I buckled under the pressure and nothing was clicking, and it’s…all my fault. For not working right, I guess.” 

“Patrick, no,” Pete whispers. “It’s not your fault at all.” 

“But isn’t it? I’m the musical genius, remember? I’m the one that’s supposed to be able to come up with melodies like that—” Patrick snaps his fingers— “so it’s my fault that nothing came together in time.” 

“Patrick.” Pete says his name firmly enough that Patrick looks up at him. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the only person in the band, remember? We’re all working on this album, and we all realized it wasn’t coming out the way we wanted. If it was just you stressing out, we would’ve staged an intervention months ago, I promise, but it wasn’t. Don’t beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. And, for the record, you don’t have to be the ‘musical genius’ all the time. Joe can shoulder that burden too, you know— don’t pressure yourself like that. It’s not good for you.”

Patrick nods slowly. 

“I know that’s not all going to sink in tonight,” Pete says wisely. “So we can talk about it more tomorrow, okay?” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

Pete pulls Patrick into a hug, and Patrick can’t help hiding his face in Pete’s shoulder. “Want me to stay again?” Pete asks. Patrick nods. 

It doesn’t take long for them to get situated under the covers. They’re facing each other again, except this time Patrick wraps his arms around Pete when he lays down, so they’re holding onto each other, too. 

“Thank you,” Patrick mumbles into Pete’s shoulder. Pete lets out a confused hum, but doesn’t stop stroking Patrick’s hair. “For being patient with me, and taking care of me.” 

“Anytime.” Pete presses a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “After all, how many times have you done the same for me?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to find me on tumblr, [here I am!](https://setting-in-a-honeymoon.tumblr.com)


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